


amassed

by infernum



Series: there’s lessons you learn, bridges you burn [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, no beta we die like men, over 3000 words of sexual tension and porn I'm proud of myself lmao, set after 2x11 bc damnnnnnnnnnnnn, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernum/pseuds/infernum
Summary: She sees two arms slip around her, hands resting on the bar and anyone else would probably think he’s relaxed but she can see him digging the palms of his hands into the bar ledge, sees the way they go white at the pressure. She can feel his chest brushing against her back, can see some of his face out the corner of her eye as he hooks his chin over her shoulder, and she knows he’s holding something back deep inside him. She knows him better than herself lately. She knows what all of this means even if it’s only just on the tip of her tongue.





	amassed

**Author's Note:**

> First off... that's not how 20 Questions is played. Idk what the hell they were playing (each others feelings if we're being honest) but it was most certainly NOT that. And secondly, hit me the fuck up with that #sexualtension daaaamnnnnnnnnnnn I died. I'm writing this beyond the grave. Can they pls just f-u-c-k one more damn time before the writers do us dirty or something like that? Lmao thanks
> 
> (also I will stand by my HC that Beth had her tubes tied after her and Dean's last kid bc four children is quite enough for her, thank you very much) (but still wrap it up kids! STDs are a Real Threat out there—be safe!!)

Sometimes Beth wonders if she’s even really an addict to the crime life. An addict is someone who shouldn’t be in the position they’re in; someone who’s hooked on a particular feeling, a rush and high from the risk, duration and aftermath. Whether it be drugs or alcohol or gambling, the addict was someone wholly different prior to becoming addicted.

Beth has never been anyone else but herself. This is who, _what_ , she has always been. She’s been so good at hiding it under so many layers of Stepford ideals that she hadn’t even realised how big it was inside of her, how it simultaneously enveloped and filled her, shaped her as a young girl and then as a woman. Her ability to lie off the cuff and think on her feet has always been there but had only been used when she was searching for something a little more than the stereotypical perfect family life she had growing up (even if Annie did rock the boat on more than a few occasions once they were fully fledged diabolical teenagers), and she craved that feeling she would get when she lied to their parents about why she was sometimes late home from school (she was out with boys, maybe smoking a joint or hooking up with Dean) or that one time she stole a bottle of cheap alcohol that only cost five dollars from the convenience store down the road while Annie distracted the cashier with her off kilter charm and underage wiles. The drink tasted like paint stripper or nail polish that had been left out in the sun, but the overwhelming rush when she hid it in her coat was what she cared more about, not the drink itself. Once she had the kids it was sometimes used on other PTA moms to get them out of her way, and occasionally some teachers if they weren’t being particularly forgiving to one of her children’s mischievous endeavours in school.

Her kids have probably inherited the same gene she has. If they haven’t then God forbid what the Dean Gene will lead them to do as they grow up.

This different Beth, the one who had been lurking in the shadows and waiting for the right time and situation to come out, has been bubbling and burning inside her for so long, and it’s lead her to the bar. The bar she fucked Rio ( _Christopher_ , her mind quickly reminds her) in not too long ago. The same one they’ve held private business meetings with tensions so high she could barely breathe, her chest tight and ears ringing, her heart beating so hard she can feel it throbbing in her temples.

She doesn’t know why she’s come here (she does) or what she expects to come from it (she does), but the bourbon that’s burning down her throat is doing a pretty good job of preventing her from thinking about what she wants to happen.

She hasn’t seen him since she broke into his apartment... well, technically, she didn’t break in since he knew she had been following him and had allowed her to enter his home. At least she doesn’t have breaking and entering on her long list of crimes she’s amassed over the past few months. What a relief, no matter how fleeting it is.

The bartender has been looking at her funny for a few minutes now and the bar has gradually emptied out. It wasn’t busy before, what with it being midday on a Thursday, but there were enough people that Beth has noticed them trickle out in small groups of twos and threes at a time and that she is now the only customer left. The music that was previously a background buzz has become more prominent with the lack of midday chatter and glasses clinking together. It has Beth on edge. She can feel her jaw clenching and unclenching, her hand gripping the glass a little too tightly, and her breaths are becoming faster and more shallow as the minutes tick by.

The door opens, letting in a quick gust of cold Detroit wind before it’s closed again. She doesn’t look. She knows exactly who it is. Even if she hadn’t already expected it, she would recognise the way the oxygen feels like it’s being sucked out of the room, the smell of him from the aftershave he uses, the way the bartender tenses and glances at her out of the side of his eye before he puts down the glass he was cleaning and makes a hasty exit out the staff side door.

She takes the last sip of her bourbon and hopes it calms her down, tilting her head back to get every last drop. One of the ice cubes that had melted down slips past her teeth and she almost chokes when she feels his presence right behind her. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, the hairs raising and goosebumps travelling their way down her arms.

She sees two arms slip around her, hands resting on the bar and anyone else would probably think he’s relaxed but she can see him digging the palms of his hands into the bar ledge, sees the way they go white at the pressure. She can feel his chest brushing against her back, can see some of his face out the corner of her eye as he hooks his chin over her shoulder, and she knows he’s holding something back deep inside him. She knows him better than herself lately. She knows what all of this means even if it’s only just on the tip of her tongue.

“Elizabeth,” Rio’s (Christopher’s) gravelly voice startles her, only just above a whisper but loud enough to jump her out of her reverie.

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s stuck. She wishes she had more to drink so she could at least have something to do other than obviously struggle to come up with something, anything, after the small stunt she's pulled. Instead she settles for a simple, "fancy seeing you here," and sure, that will have to do.

Rio scoffs at that, the huff of breath ghosting across her ear and she can smell mint and strong coffee.

He leans forward, pressing his chest firm against her back, and pries her fingers off the empty glass. Her fingerprints look like they're embedded in the glassware, like the grooves have engraved themselves there to leave her mark. Rio's fingers have not left her hand, softly tracing the veins on her hand with his fingertips. He's ducked his head down just a bit, just enough, that Beth's mind flashes back to the bathroom and the way he buries his head in the same spot, the way he licked and bit and kissed and whispered unintelligible words into her skin.

She can feel herself getting wet, way past the damp mark, and suddenly the lewd thought of her soaking through her underwear and pants on to the leather seat of the stool makes her thighs tighten and clench together, putting pressure on her clit and she lets out a quiet sigh, almost inaudible to Rio except he's right beside her face so she knows he heard her; she can tell from the smirk that's now present on his face, even if he's trying to hide it behind his tough crime boss look.

One hand is sliding from her hand up her forearm towards her shoulder, then down her torso to her waist before it settles comfortably on her hip, his fingers pressing into the groove of her hipbone hard enough that she knows he's going to leave a mark. Whether it's going to just be red marks or bruises she's not too sure. Beth hopes he leaves bruises.

She straightens her back, pushing her shoulders back and lifts her eyes to meets his in the mirror that's opposite them behind the bar. It's so like that night that it's uncanny, except it's broad daylight and midday on a goddamn Thursday and anyone could walk in and see them like this. The tension is palpable, so obvious, that even Dean could have a glance at what's happening and actually know what's going on for once.

Rio is staring at her. There's not much going on on his face, he won't give anything away except he's working his jaw slowly and she can faintly see a vein throbbing across his right temple where it disappears into his hairline. His eyes are a different story, though—they're dark and fiery, pupils already blown wide like he's trying to take everything about her in, soaking in the moment. They're so bright with a feverish want, just like that night in the bathroom. Just like when he fucked her ( _made love, worshipped, revered_ ) in the bed where she had slept with Dean every night since they married twenty years ago.

"I didn't –" she stammers for a second, unsure if she should speak, but she regains herself because she wants this and she knows he wants this too. "I didn't think you would come."

His eyes darken in the mirror and his jaw slackens.

"Don't I always come running for you, Elizabeth?" His lips graze her ear, the tip of his tongue skims across the peach fuzz on it when he enunciates the 'l' in her name.

"I know," a quick pause, gauges his reaction, "I come running for you, too," and he swipes the stool out from beneath her before she can blink, hands under her armpits to keep her from falling before they catch her hands and put her palms flat against the stick wood of the bar. He pushes down hard enough on her hands that she knows he means not to move them, so of course that means she's going to move them when he's least expecting it.

He's pushed her top up above her breasts, stopping to admire the bra she bought only yesterday specifically for him. It's a light blue lace with a vertical seams up the center of the cups, the seams covering her nipples, and a light small pink bow in the middle. The lace looks like it's tattooed to her skin, a part of her, and she hears Rio's (Christopher's) breath hitch when he trails a finger over the bow, feeling the front clasp hidden beneath it before he snaps it open in one pull and squeezes both breasts in his hands, palms dragging over her nipples. Beth groans, tilting her head back and let's herself fall into the pleasure but suddenly a hand is gripping her jaw and pulling her head back down so she's looking at him in the mirror again.

"You gotta look, mama. Keep your eyes on me," he growls, his thumb digging into her cheek so firmly that her teeth are nearly cutting into the inside of her cheek.

Beth nods her head as best as she can with her limited movement and Rio lets go, hands rushing down to her pants to pop off the button and pull her pants down to her thighs. He holds her thighs like he did last time they were in this position, just for a second or two, then tears her underwear off exactly the same with no real effort put in.

There's something so exhilarating in the fact that Beth is half naked in a bar at midday, where anyone could walk in, where it's definitely not clean and she can feel the cold air against how wet she is, while Rio hasn't even got one button undone and he doesn't even look bothered by what's happening. That needs to change.

Slowly, carefully, Beth moves one hand to her body, stroking the skin on her stomach, the stretch marks that start just below her breasts and work down to her hips provide her with steps to where she wants to touch. So she does, with very little movement, watching Rio in the mirror, biting at her bottom lip until it's red and sore and as wet as where her fingers are tracing around right now. She can hear how wet she is, and she knows Rio can as well.

She takes her hand away to lift it up to Rio's mouth and he wraps his lips around her fingers, sucking at the taste of her, his eyelids fluttering for a moment and she can feel a quiet groan vibrate in his mouth. His eyes snap back open, new heat flashing through them, pushes her hand back to the bar and quickly undoes his jeans and pushes them down to his knees so he can spread his legs apart, knocking at the insides of her feet with his own so hers are spread too, her pants cutting into her thighs with how tight they are. It hurts, but doesn't hurt enough to say anything, stop anything. If she says anything now, that's it, this is done, and Beth can't have that—she _needs_ this.

Rio is playing with her clit slowly, circling it, just like she was doing only a minute ago, looking at her in the mirror like he's starved of her and he can't get enough. He slaps her pussy hard and quick, making Beth yelp which dissolves into a breathy moan when he sinks two fingers into her, curling down into her g-spot, working it hard and fast. The noises it elicits from her pussy is downright disgusting and obscene, all wet and noisy—Beth is fucking _living_ for it. She can't believe she, queen PTA mom of four kids, is about to be thoroughly ruined in a bar, on the bar top, by a drug king pin boss who she regularly messes with because she's more than a goddamn addict (she's worse, so much worse), and she couldn't care less.

She's about to come and come hard when Rio pulls his fingers out fast, catching on the rim of her pussy and it stings just a little bit, but then he's pushing his cock in nice and slow and she feels so damn full. She goes to lean forward against the bar but Rio takes a hold of her right shoulder with one hand, his arm hooked under her armpit, and places the other over the swell of her stomach. He pulls her shoulder towards him, arching her back too much and it aches right now so she's going to hurt deep in her back muscles tomorrow. He grinds his cock into her slow, hard, deep inside her, deeper than he's ever been before and definitely deeper than Dean's ever imagined doing. It's so much already and Beth wants to come so bad but she can't in this position—it's good, it feels so good, but it's not hitting any spots inside her and there's no pressure on her clit, nothing to rub against to get her off.

The hand on her shoulder slides up so his palm is pressing into her neck, enveloping it, and his fingers are pressing into the underside of her jaw. She can still breathe just fine but it's harder now, feels like her throat is halfway closed up and she might suffocate but he's letting her have an inch to keep breathing, and he's staring at her in the mirror like he's actually about to die just from seeing her lose it around him.

He's making little pained noises, half grunts and whines, each time he grinds in like he's getting punched in the stomach. He's not keeping himself together like he did in the bathroom but he's also not letting himself go like he did in the bed. His eyes are starting to flutter as he loses himself in his pleasure inside of her and he looks so pretty like this, like a work of art or one of those marble statues of old Greek heroes. The sunlight shining through the bar's textured windows makes his skin looks like it's glowing, like he's on fire from the inside and he's burning up inside her too. He's so beautiful and Beth can't believe she's thinking this about a man who is a criminal who kills people as part of his job, but then again Beth is a criminal too. She hasn't directly killed anyone but she's been the reason someone had to be killed, and that's the same thing really, isn't it?

Rio is pushing his chest on her back, making her bend forward over the bar so he can rest his elbow on it and put more pressure on her throat, cutting off more air and she's feeling slightly dizzy already. There's a pulse throbbing in her ears and it sounds slightly like the ocean, like waves lapping over on the sand of a beach; it's like she's drowning in Rio, in everything about him and everything she's now a part of whether she likes it or not (she does like it, she _loves_ it, she can't get enough of everything about this whole life) and Rio is panting loud in her ear now, the fingers under her jaw still making her look up in the mirror at him but he's got his eyes closed.

Beth raises a hand to the back of his neck, grips him hard enough that his eyes open and she grins like she's a mad woman. She looks like she is a mad woman—her hair is sweaty and frizzing up, sweat is dripping down her face and ruining her perfectly done makeup, she's half undressed and getting fucked in a public bar.

"Look at me," she grinds out, teeth clenched hard because she's about to come and she wants him to look at her when she does and she wants to look at him when he comes. She wants that so bad, to see him lose control like he's about to, but all of a sudden he's not inside her anymore. He's jerking off behind her and the hand that was around her throat is now pressing on her back between her shoulder blades. She can feel the head of his cock against her ass, can feel his precome dripping down her pussy and down her thighs, feels his sweaty palm pushing her hard enough onto the bar top that it's still hard to breathe. She can hear his heavy breathing and cut off moans, a quiet little, "fuck, ma," and a grunt as he comes all over her ass and back. It's dripping down her thighs and on her pants she's still got stuck around them.

It's quiet now. There's still the bar music playing but other than that it's silent. She can't hear any cars outside or even her own heart beating inside of her anymore.

She feels Rio take his hand off her back and hears the rustle of jeans being pulled back up, so she sorts out her own clothes with her jaw clenched and eyes hard but she won't say anything, won't whine that she didn't come, won’t make a noise about his come that’s seeping through her pants. She won't give him the satisfaction of that. She's had worse in her life and she doesn't give in easy. Rio knows that all too well.

There's a loud noise and she jumps, looks at where his hand is on the bar and sees that he's slapped down a crisp twenty dollar bill. He's grinning at her, looking too pleased with himself and it riles Beth up inside, makes her blood boil, but instead she give him her best gentle and warming housewife smile back. His smirk wobbles into something darker for a second before it straightens out again.

"I got your drink, Elizabeth," he says, now grinning like he's a madman, nodding his head once and turns away, walking out the main door without a look back.

Once the door closes behind him she hears another open behind her. She snaps her head round and sees the bartender walk in through the staff side door with an embarrassed look on his face, his lips pursed as the twenty on the bar catches his eye.

Mortified, Beth grabs another twenty from her purse and chucks it with the other twenty, thanks him (which she regrets instantaneously because it sounds like she's saying thank you for letting her get fucked and left high and dry on the bar that people touch and lean on and drink on all day) and scurries out the bar into the fresh air.

She can't see Rio anywhere but she honestly wasn't expecting to. She's glad she won't see him. She might just throw something heavier than a set of keys at his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think!! Criticism is accepted but only if it's constructive. I accept any and all types of praise because I am a major slut for praise.


End file.
